


druxy

by hellalujah



Series: uncommon words - a collection of prompt fills [1]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Heartbreak, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8449006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellalujah/pseuds/hellalujah
Summary: (adjective) something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ecoeurant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecoeurant/gifts).



> a drabble for a prompt on tumblr that got a little out of hand 
> 
> for tumblr user ironyandangst aka my pal R, love ya girl

Anton is already up and out of bed by the time Porter manages to blink his eyes open.

He's scooping up his clothes off the diamond pattern of the hotel carpet, still naked, and Porter lets himself look for just a second. Powerful muscles flexing under tanned skin, dustings of blonde hair. Porter wants to catch him by the wrist and pull him back into bed and put his mouth against Anton's shoulders.

Anton steps into his underwear, pulls on his jeans. Porter’s distracted for a second with the way the denim hugs Anton's thighs, but he shakes himself out of it.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is hoarse either from everything they'd done tonight or the resulting screaming and he swallows against it, savours the burn.

Anton turns to him and smiles one of his brilliant smiles. “I thought you'd fallen asleep.”

Porter shakes his head and sits up in bed. There's an ache in his low back and he savours that too. 

The sheet’s fallen away, down around his hips, and Porter notes the way Anton's looking at him. The quiet intensity that drew Porter into this in the first place.

“Do you want to stick around a bit?” Porter asks. It's barely a whisper.

Anton smiles, so gentle and kind and maybe something else but whatever it is it's gone so fast Porter can't really process it. “I can't,” he says, shaking his head. “I've got things to do in the morning.”

Porter swallows against the pain in his throat again and nods slowly. “Cool.”

Abruptly Anton is next to the bed again, cupping Porter's cheek in one calloused hand. Porter stares hazily up at him, smiles when Anton does.

“Call me next time you're in town, yeah?” Anton says, then leans in and presses his lips to Porter's forehead.

“Yeah,” says Porter. But Anton's already out the door.

\--- 

_what city are you in?_

_I'm at home. Why?_

_breakfast?_

Porter’s flight home isn’t until late the next evening and he hasn’t seen Mat in _months_ so Porter’s happy when he agrees to meet up at a restaurant they both like. It’s in Hollywood and neither of them really like going there but the restaurant is excellent so they make an exception.

“I didn't realize you were playing a show,” Mat’s saying as he squints appraisingly into his coffee. “I would have come if I'd have known.”

Porter shakes his head. “I was visiting Nick in San Francisco and then I came up here to see… people.” 

Mat looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow. “‘People’, huh?”

Porter stays quiet for a long moment. Long enough that the waitress comes over to take their order and Porter thinks, as she’s asking how Mat wants his eggs, that Mat will forget about it. But when she turns and walks off and Porter looks back over, Mat’s still looking at him with that same expression.

“Are you okay?” Mat asks gently.

Porter chews the inside of his cheek and nods. “Yeah, I’ve just - it’s not really anything to - I haven’t told anyone, you know, it’s kind of strange-,”

Mat kicks him under the table. It’s more of a nudge but Porter stops babbling and forces himself to make eye contact. Mat peers at him searchingly.

“I’ve been sleeping with Anton,” Porter says eventually.

Mat doesn’t say anything but he sits up a little straighter, drums his fingers against the table and tilts his head like he’s thinking about it. Porter shifts around in his chair uncomfortably and looks away, opens his mouth to try and make a joke.

“Are you dating him?” Mat asks before he can speak.

Porter shakes his head.

“Do you want to be dating him?”

Porter hesitates. Then shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s… fine the way it is.”

Mat’s ominously quiet and Porter glances up at him. He’s watching Porter closely, dark eyes sharp and mouth a tight line. The waitress comes back and sets down a plate of pancakes in front of Porter and he realizes abruptly that he’s not hungry at all. He stares down at them, picks up his fork anyway and tears a piece off so that he doesn’t have to look at Mat.

“Are you sure?” Mat says and Porter just barely stops himself from shoving his food in his mouth so that he won’t have to respond.

“Yeah,” he says, then takes a bite.

“Porter.”

Porter looks up, chewing guiltily. Mat’s face is still tight and Porter feels a bit nauseous.

“I’m not going to tell you what’s best for you,” Mat says carefully. “You’re an adult and you can make your own decisions.” He pauses to pick up his toast and jab it into an egg yolk so that it runs all over the plate. “Just be careful, alright? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Something warm blooms in Porter’s chest, the brightness of being cared for spreading like warm water all the way to his fingertips.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll be alright.”

Mat shoots him a little smile and he doesn’t feel quite so sick anymore. He tucks into his pancakes enthusiastically.

\--- 

Porter’s back home for three days when Anton sends him a text telling him he’s playing a show in New York and if Porter’s got the time he should come up.

He doesn't even bother responding before he opens his laptop and starts searching for plane tickets. The best one he can find gets him into JFK at six o’clock and he buys it even though he knows Anton won’t be calling him until well after midnight.

The thought turns sour in his stomach. He knows what this is, knows that he’s flying two hours for a booty call. But he and Anton have been friends for years and Porter cares about him so much.

He likes to think Anton cares about him too.

He shakes all that away, shoves it down and down somewhere the doubt can’t reach him, at least for now.

For a moment Porter considers texting Mat and letting him know where he’s going. Or sending Hugo or Dillon a message. They’re his best friends, outside of Anton. He’s lucky to have them all and it feels strange that Mat’s the only one who knows, that it took him this long to tell him.

Porter stares at his phone for a long few seconds and then shoves it in his back pocket before he starts to throw clothes in a bag.

\---

The hotel room Anton's reserved for him is gorgeous - they always are, plush furniture and tasteful decor. Porter tosses his bag on the ground and flops across the bed. He considers taking a nap, getting some rest and then showering for when Anton finally shows up. Instead he finds himself scrolling through Twitter.

There are a few tweets about tonight's show and Porter hasn’t realized it but Dillon is playing too. Porter grins to himself. He hasn't seen Dillon in ages, and he hasn't actually watched either Dillon or Anton play in even longer than that.

His stomach does an excited little flip and his grin widens. They'll be so surprised to see him.

\--- 

The security guard out back recognizes him immediately and lets him into the venue when Porter tells him he's here to see Anton.

He weaves through the halls backstage with a spring in his step. He’s excited to see Dillon and even more to see Anton, to be around two of his best friends and see them play and then go back to the hotel with Anton for the night. The smile on his face is wide and uncontrollable and he’s _happy_. He’s more excited for this than anything he’s been excited for in recent memory.

He’s been to this venue before, well over a year ago, but he remembers distantly where the green room is. When he gets there the door is closed and he can hear muffled laughter. He bites his lip against his grin and pushes the door open.

There’s no one there, no one on the couches or anything. But the bathroom door is cracked. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Porter’s stomach abruptly feels like lead.

He steps further into the room, past the couches and a jacket that seems strangely familiar but that Porter can’t place right now. He hesitates at the bathroom door. If he were to tilt his head just a bit he’d be able to see in.

There’s more laughter, so loud now that Porter’s only a few feet away. It’s Anton’s laughter, breathless and sweet and so, so familiar.

“Fuck, _Dillon_ ,” says Anton’s voice.

Porter very carefully clamps one hand over his mouth and starts to back away. There’s a wet popping noise and then Anton laughs again, followed by Dillon’s distinctive snickering.

“How much time do we have?” asks Dillon, voice raw. “Do you think we can-,”

His voice cuts off abruptly and Porter can hear the soft, wet noises of kissing.

He turns and heads back out of the green room.

He clips his shoulder on the door on his way out and it slams open, thuds against the wall but he’s already striding down the hall. He’s running on autopilot, he barely remembers the way out but his body does and in what seems simultaneously like forever and no time at all he’s shoving open the emergency exit door.

The security guard calls after him, asks if Anton was surprised. Porter takes off at a run down the alley.

\---

He barely registers that the cab has stopped outside his hotel until the driver snaps his fare at him and Porter flinches, hands over way too much cash and stumbles out of the car and into the lobby.

A girl gets in the elevator with him and he can feel her looking at him like she recognizes him but he keeps his eyes on the rich red carpeting of the floor. Curling his fists in his pockets and trying to slow his heart rate.

His fingers are sweaty and he nearly drops his keycard once, actually does drop it when he tries to get it into the slot in the door.

He pauses for a moment and leans his forehead against the doorframe. Closes his eyes and breathes through how much he wants to sit down and cry.

It’s all so much.

Eventually he crouches and scoops up the card, fumbles it into the slot and gets the door open.

It’s just after eleven. He lays down on the bed without taking his shoes or coat off.

\---

Porter blinks awake and his heart is pounding. For a second he’s forgotten where he is and he thrashes at the restrictive pull of his jacket until he takes a harsh breath and recognizes the hotel room around him. Same rich carpeting, same view of the New York City skyline out floor-to-ceiling windows.

He struggles out of his coat and scrubs at face before he allows himself to lay back down. His phone is on the bed next to him and he picks it up, chews his lip anxiously before unlocking it.

He thumbs through his contacts and for a wild moment he thinks about calling Mat. He thinks about getting in a cab back to the airport and grabbing the next flight to LAX and staying with Mat for the next few days. Somehow going home doesn’t feel like an option right now and Porter knows Mat would welcome him. They could catch up, play video games or something.

Porter could walk away from this. He knows he could.

He pauses for a long moment, until his phone screen goes dead. The blankets are achingly soft when he turns his face into them.

His phone pings at him.

_I'm all done! You still awake? :)_

It's Anton. Porter sits up and crosses his legs, holds his phone in both hands and just stares at the message until the screen goes dead again. He hadn't even registered the time at first. It's already two in the morning.

He keeps looking down at the blank screen. Anton’s message flashes up at him again a minute later and he swipes it open. Stares for another long, long moment.

_yeah. ready when you are._

He sends the text, ignores the wave of nauseous resignation coursing through his stomach, and lays back down.


End file.
